


if on an epikegster night a traveler

by screamlet



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Closeted Character, Developing Relationship, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7959949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamlet/pseuds/screamlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You tell me what you did when you get here.”<br/>“What? I didn’t—”<br/>“3 AM here and you almost lose your point streak in game last night, Parse. You leave Vegas, go to not-Boston, call me at 3 AM. So you come to Providence, you tell me what happened.”<br/>Kent took several deep breaths, but said nothing.</p><p>*</p><p>Set the night of (and morning after) <a href="http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/post/108665416404">the 2014 Epikegster/the Parse arc</a> in Year 2.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	if on an epikegster night a traveler

**Author's Note:**

> \+ Title shamelessly ripped from [this novel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If_on_a_winter%27s_night_a_traveler).

The bannister of Jack’s dorm/house was a shaky piece of shit, as Kent learned when he tried leaning on it for one fucking _second_ and it almost gave way and dropped him onto the party below. That’s all he fucking needed: _Kent Parson, 24, captain of the Las Vegas Aces, dead in tragic bannister accident at college hockey frat party and reportedly the home of_ —

But then the college could have Jack’s house _condemned_ and that would be pretty fucking sweet.

Kent took a deep breath, shook his head, and switched his grip to the wood paneling of the wall on his right. He clutched it tight for a moment and took another breath. Time to go.

He had been upstairs with Jack long enough that the party had morphed into dancing and shouting, the better for him to escape without taking another selfie or getting sad college vomit all over his shirt. Kent slipped out the front door and looked around the porch for Jack’s roommate, the one who didn’t live across the hall from Jack and didn’t look just like Kent and Jack wasn't pounding into a headboard right about now. 

“Shitty,” Kent called across the porch. “I’m heading out. Can you do me a favor?”

“Heading out?” Shitty, however long after Kent had crashed their party, had gone from sitting on the porch balcony to cradling the whole cooler of neon green "tub juice" sludge in his arms. “Lards says you got your ass handed to you in flip cup.”

“Yeah, it’s been that kinda night.” Kent walked over and crouched in front of the cooler. “Listen, when you get a chance, could you go up and check on Jack?”

That woke Shitty the fuck up. “What? Is Jack okay? No one snuck him any of this shit, did they?”

“No, no, I just—we had an argument and I—said some shit I shouldn’t.”

Shitty sobered up in the time it took to Kent to get that sentence out.

“So what are you doing down here with me? Get the fuck back up there and apologize.”

“Yeah, it’s not—if he sees me right now, he’ll probably throw me down your fucking stairs, dude, and that bannister’s two clumsy freshmen away from collapse so it’s for the best—”

“Go up there, Parse,” Shitty said. “Go back up there, tell him—bro, don't do this to him.”

Kent snapped. “I just told him I’d do anything, _anything_ , I’d bend salary caps and sell out anyone on my own goddamn team, if he came to Vegas and played for the Aces, and he told me to go fuck myself. So no thanks, I’m not going back up there to hear all the reasons he wants to live in this fucking—fix your goddamned bannister, okay? It almost killed me. I gotta go. Tell him I’m sorry.”

Kent left the porch and walked down the street to his godawful flashy rental car. Inside, he turned on the music and yelled at the voice command.

“CALL TATER.”

“ _I’m sorry, could you repeat that?_ ”

“CALL. TATER.”

“ _I’m sorry, could you repeat that?_ ”

“CAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL. TAAAAAAAATERRRRRRRRR.”

“ _Calling Alexei Mashkov mobile_.”

“Fucking THANK YOU.”

Alexei didn’t pick up. Kent pulled out of his spot and gripped the wheel tighter as he drove. He shook his head, blinking away whatever was clouding his vision as his rental crawled through the narrow streets of this pricey dump of a college Bad Bob was paying full price for, just so his shitty kid could live in a house five minutes from collapse with a wholesome little Kent across the hall who’d blush for twenty minutes from a safe distance away before asking for a selfie—god, Kent was a fucking idiot. 

“ _Incoming call from Alexei Mashkov mobile_.”

“Pick up.”

“ _I’m sorry, could you_ —”

“ANSWER CALL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT.” 

“Kenny, who are you yelling at?”

“Tater, god, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care if you yell at god. Me? Don’t yell at me.”

“No, I—”

Kent was fucking lost in this labyrinth college campus and he couldn’t find his way out and talk to Alexei at the same time, at 3 in the fucking morning. He pulled over next to the lake randomly dropped on the campus and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

“Sorry, I was fighting with voice command in this garbage rental,” Kent said. “Thanks for calling me back.” 

“Remember you told me,” Alexei said, sounding half-asleep himself. “Americans don’t use phones for calls, only if drunk or dying, and you were always sad when drunk.”

“Yeah, that’s probably why I don’t drink anymore,” Kent said. “Hey, uh. This is. It’s a weird question, and feel free to tell me to go fuck myself or whatever because I’ve had a long night and nothing makes sense anymore, but if you’re around—I’m like 45 minutes from Providence. Could I—could I crash with you tonight?”

“What is 45 minutes from Providence?”

“What?”

“You in Boston?”

“No, I’m—I’m west of Boston. In the suburbs.”

Alexei hummed to himself, a cross between thoughtful and irritated.

“Yes, come to my house, come to Providence.”

“Thanks, man—you sure it's okay?"

"Yes, sure."

"Okay. Okay, thank you. You're the best, Tater. I just—”

“You tell me what you did when you get here.”

“What? I didn’t—”

“3 AM here and you almost lose your point streak in game last night, Parse. You leave Vegas, go to not-Boston, call me at 3 AM. So you come here, you tell me what happened.”

Kent took several deep breaths, but said nothing.

“Parson? Kenny, you okay? You need me to find you? You have iPhone, drop me your pin. You remember how to drop pin?”

“No, it’s okay, I can drive.”

“You not driving now, are you?”

“No, I pulled over.”

“Okay, good. Drive when ready. Don’t crash car. Doorbell is loud, I hear it when you are here.”

“I’m sorry,” Kent said. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I’m sorry for everything.”

“You say sorry again, I come get you.”

“I’m fine, okay? Maybe I’m just sorry.”

“Maybe, but I never hear you _that_ sorry. You not here in one hour, I come find you with Masya and Knopka.”

“Oh god, not the _dogs_ ,” Kent laughed. “No, don’t wake them up.”

“Who you think bark at me when phone was ringing? Knopka likes you too much. Even knows your ringtone.”

“No he—” Kent took another breath and sat up behind the wheel. “Okay, I’m. I’m gonna start driving now. I’ll see you soon.”

“I mean it, okay? You not here in one hour, we come find you.”

“Tater, please, your overgrown house cats couldn’t find me if I was in your kitchen and covered in gravy.”

“No, but you be responsible and _drop pin_ and then we find you. You don’t need gravy when you have pin.”

Kent nodded, then shook it off when he remembered Alexei couldn’t see him. “You ever think we’d be here? When we were drafted first and second, you think we’d—we’d have phones that could call you even when I’m driving, that I could just press a thing and it’d tell you where I was, like, a satellite searched the whole planet and found me and sent it straight to you?”

Kent knew he was babbling, and Kent ran through as many of Alexei’s possible answers as he could imagine: _Parson, you sure you not drink tonight? Parson, you take something else? Parson, why you go back with Zimmermann? Parson, breaking point streak not mean you break everything, you start new streak tomorrow. Parson, where are your other friends? Parson, why me?_

“Kenny, just drive,” Alexei said. “Hang up, put on your Britney music, drive to me.”

Alexei ended the call, but there was a text chime over the car speakers. 

_Alexei Mashkov has sent location. Say YES to use Maps to drive to location._

The GPS woman guided him off Samwell’s campus, turn by painstaking turn, and once he was out and back in the woods, on the highway south to Providence, he felt lighter already.

*

Even in the middle of the night with no other cars on the road, the drive still took 40 minutes from the highway to the quiet street where Alexei lived. Kent knew Alexei had moved about two years ago when he renewed with the Falcs; now he had a two-car driveway _and_ a garage.

No porch, though, not like that shitty frat house. No, Alexei was sitting outside on the front step of his house, in the middle of the night, in New England, in December, wearing a hoodie, basketball shorts, and flip flops. Masya was draped across Alexei’s lap and Knopka was panting on the walk as they watched Kent’s car pull into the driveway. 

“You know it’s _winter_ , right?” Kent asked as he got out of the car. Knopka and his weird little namesake button nose ran for Kent and jumped in front of him until Kent kneeled down and opened his arms for him. 

“Only December 13, no, 14,” Alexei said. Knopka left Kent and ran back to Alexei, then ran back and forth between them until Kent was standing at the front step. “Winter not until 21.”

“Oh, so in winter you’ll wear pants.”

“I think about it. 50 degrees now. Still warm like summer.”

Kent crouched down in front of Alexei and Masya, holding out his hand for her approval, yet again, because she liked to ignore him as if she were a cat and not the overgrown husky mix Alexei had found in the shelter his first year in Providence. 

“She still doesn’t like me.”

“She doesn’t like anyone, only Papa, is that right, Masya?” 

“She wouldn’t have come to find me in the woods.”

“She come for me and Knopka. If you there, she not mind.” Alexei looked up at Kent and motioned over his shoulder. “Inside? Or we talk here? You cold? You make fun of shorts because you cold?”

Kent shook his head and sat down on the step next to Alexei. Knopka ran over immediately and wedged himself in between Kent’s legs, draping his front legs over Kent’s lap and waiting for scritches. Kent wrapped his arms around Knopka and scratched his sides, his belly, then glanced over at Alexei. He had an arm across Masya, holding her close, while he watched the street in front of them that showed no signs of life except them and the dogs. 

“So, I think I came out to my team last night,” Kent said. “And I don’t think they liked it. I don’t think I… gave them a chance to like it.” Alexei looked over, gave him a nod, then looked across the street again. “They were chirping our new rookie, he’s only been out on the ice for like, _a game_ so far this season, and I told them to lay off because he was going out again on the ice last night, last thing the kid needed was nerves. And one of our forwards, Pierce, _a good guy_ , said to my face: _Come on, Cap, it’s part of his initiation so he isn’t such a_ —yeah, he said that word _to my face_. Tater, I totally lost it. I got in his face, backed him into the stall: _What if I was? What if anyone here was? And we’re just fucking jokes to you_? I wanted him to scratch, I didn’t want him on the ice, but. Whatever. I’m just the captain, what can I do, right? So I played the worst hockey of my life, went home, bought a flight out here.”

“To see Zimmermann,” Alexei said.

Kent sighed. “Yeah. At his school. Spoiler, by the way: he’s signing with you guys.”

Apparently that was news to Alexei, who turned to look at Kent and disturbed Masya’s spot on his lap, her ears flicking up and her eyes narrowing at Kent’s with pure murder. 

“Zimmermann? With Falconers? Everyone say Habs or Kings, even Bruins, not new expansion team.”

“Yeah, well, _for some reason_ , he wants to stick close to his friends from his shitty school.”

“They make finals every year he is there. Not so shitty, Parson.”

“Whatever.” Kent wanted to hide his face in Knopka’s fur; instead he held him closer and looked away from Alexei. “No one stood up for me in that locker room, Tater. I’ve been captain for three seasons. I go out with them, I’ve been to their weddings, play with their kids—none of them stood up for me, or with me, or anything.”

“You think Zimms will fix this?”

Kent hesitated. “He always had my back. Not anymore, though. Who else do I have?” 

Kent looked over, then, because he could almost hear the look Alexei was giving him.

“Knopka,” Alexei said. “Knopka not mind that you stupid.”

“Zimms was looking to sign,” Kent said, defensive. “You’re here. You just signed for another million years.”

“I sign two years ago for four more years,” Alexei said. “And this not—Kenny, he not solve your problem.”

“Oh, you mean virulent homophobia in a trillion-dollar sports industry? You don’t fucking say.”

“Maybe no one on your side because you yell at them when they talk to you,” Alexei said suddenly. “Maybe you too busy yelling at one idiot on your team to see rest of team—” 

Kent knew the look, when Alexei got too caught up and lost that thread of English, knowing what he wanted to say in Russian but unable to find the right combination in another language. He looked at Kent and rolled his eyes, more at himself for forgetting than at Kent.

“It’s—they back away scared, horror, because you yell at them, and if they say anything about this gay thing, good or bad, you yell at them, or yell at managers, and Kent Parson will throw them out of team, so they say nothing because you and managers cannot hurt them with nothing. You know this, you know this why _we_ keep quiet. Now you know why they keep quiet, too.”

Kent felt tears welling up around his eyes for the second or third time that fucking night. “That’s not fair,” Kent said. “That’s not _fair_. What am I supposed to do? Just let them talk shit and say nothing?”

Alexei shook his head. “You upset they didn’t know: you tell them. Tell them, as captain, no more of that word you hate, or jokes like that, because they not jokes. They joke about gays, they joke about guys on team. _You_ have to do it. Zimms? He will not do this with you. Not now, not as rookie, not in first draft when you and me drafted. He just want hockey. Good he come to Providence, because I just want hockey.”

Kent could hear himself breathing, hollow and shallow and loud because he wanted to yell, he wanted to get back in his ugly fucking rental and maybe—he wanted to do something stupid, tremendously stupid, something to put him in a different kind of pain so he’d forget this pain, right now. 

Christ, he was 24. Wasn’t he too old for this? When was he going to be too old for this?

“It’s not enough for me anymore.” Kent heard his own voice crack and wiped at his eyes with the collar of his flannel. “I don’t want to lie about my plans, my weekends, my vacations, my past, why I’m always alone, I don’t want to lie about that anymore. Hockey’s not enough anymore.” He knew Alexei was watching him again, since Knopka had started whining in Kent’s lap and pawing at him for attention and scritches again. “Same age, same draft, tater tot. How is it enough for you?”

After a moment, there was Alexei’s hand on his shoulder. His hand moved to the center of Kent's back, Alexei’s thumb pressing hard against the knob at the top of Kent’s spine, his fingers brushing up against Kent’s hair that badly needed a trim. Badly needed a shower, too, to be honest. 

“Couldn’t do this at home,” Alexei said, quiet. “Couldn’t sit outside my house in middle of the night, where neighbors or police could see, waiting for strange man to drive flashy car here and sit with me until sun come up. Couldn’t sit next to him with our two dogs and talk quiet before going inside, until he leave next morning. Still enough for me. Enough for me, until I am ready never to go home again. Sister still stubborn, does not want visa to live here, but if I do what you do, I can never go back and see her again.”

Kent nodded and then dropped his head to his chest, baring his neck for Alexei to touch, his calloused fingers and fingertips finally making Kent feel the chill outside. 

“Okay, you win.” 

Alexei broke the moment by flicking the side of Kent’s neck, _hard_.

“No winners, is all _bad_. Also bad? That car. Ugliest car. Your dick big enough, why you get that car?”

Kent choked and elbowed Alexei in the side. “It’s a rental, asshole. It was that shiny thing or a minivan.”

“What, minivan too comfortable?”

“Minivan’s _way_ worse.”

“Minivan practical. Respectful car for old man hockey player who wants little hockey family to place nice with each other.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Not in that car. No room to push the seats back. I literally not fit in that car.”

“I wasn’t—that’s not what—”

“I know, you fly across America, no thought for Tater until you run away, typical Parson.”

Kent didn’t have a chirp for that.

“I wish that wasn’t true,” Kent said. “Stop letting assholes like me into your life.”

“You forget conversation already,” Alexei said. “We take any assholes we can get.”

“That’s really funny and sad and I hate you, Tater, I really do.” 

“You hate me enough to sleep in tiny car or you come inside with me? Knopka looks cold. You do this to Knopka when he loves you more than me?”

Kent nudged Knopka off his lap as Alexei stood, too, now carrying Masya in his arms. 

“She okay?” Kent asked as he stepped around Alexei and opened the front door for them. “I thought she was just doing her princess thing, but—is she sick?”

“Masya was old dog when I go to shelter five, six years ago,” Alexei said as he carried her inside to her dog bed in the living room, a short walk to the kitchen. “You think I forget how long we here? Masya remembers. I remember.”

Kent closed the front door behind them and locked it. He looked down at the pile of shoes by the door and unlaced his boots before coming in further. “Practice tomorrow?”

Alexei was still crouched by Masya’s dog bed, stroking her back as she blinked slowly and fell asleep in front of him. Kent walked into the kitchen and made a beeline for the big paper calendar held on the fridge with magnets. “See calendar, tell me if wrong," Alexei said. "Two days off with practice, then three-city roadie, then two games here, then four days for Christmas. You?”

“Four days off then two home, one away, five days for Christmas, one away.” Kent looked away from the calendar; from the corner of his eye, he saw Alexei stand to his full height, hands firmly tucked into the front pockets of his hoodie. 

“Jesus, I forget how tall you are,” Kent breathed. 

“You sleep in kitchen or upstairs with me? Masya asleep, but she never share. Knopka like you, but only until you try to take his bed.”

“Hang on, just ‘cause you’re tall doesn’t—”

“Kenny. Dogs sleeping. They have long night, too exciting for dogs. Man show up, he drives ugliest car, very bad hat hair, demand hugs from dogs, doesn’t care they need sleep.”

Kent turned off the kitchen light and approached Alexei, taking slow steps until Alexei reached for him and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Kent, all that warmth he’d been hoarding seeping in through Kent’s too-thin-for-December flannel. 

“Is this Falcs merch? I want one,” Kent murmured against Alexei’s chest. 

“Mm, you do not want this,” Alexei said. “Take back to Vegas, yell at me that it not feel the same, come out here again, yell some more like I fix hoodie.” 

Alexei’s hand came up to Kent’s jaw, tilting up his face before Alexei kissed him. He pulled away after a moment, leaving Kent’s lips parted and reaching for another kiss. 

“I want this,” came out of Kent’s mouth. 

“I want sleep,” came out of Alexei’s.

He could chirp Alexei back; instead, Kent nodded. 

*

Kent woke up in Alexei’s bed, wearing Alexei’s hoodie, Alexei’s weight and warmth along his back. That was Alexei’s hand on his waist, Alexei stealing Kent’s pillow out from under his head. 

Slowly, carefully, Kent turned onto his other side and pressed himself against Alexei’s front, shirtless now that he was asleep, his arm snaking around Alexei’s chest. He tucked his head against Alexei’s shoulder, somewhere under his chin, hoped his hands on Alexei’s back weren’t cold enough to wake him. 

Alexei pulled him close, his big hand on the small of Kent’s back, and Kent let himself suffocate to sleep against Alexei’s chest.

*

Kent woke up again, turned almost totally on his stomach, his legs curled up to his chest, the hoodie just about engulfing his entire body. His head was off the pillow, on the bed, and Alexei’s back was tall and broad enough to literally block out the shitty excuse for sunshine that New England could offer in December. 

“The fuck,” he muttered to himself. Kent pulled himself up to the top of the bed and claimed a pillow for himself. He turned on his side and leaned his back against Alexei, then sat up and took off the hoodie and fell to the bed again, back pressed against Alexei. 

“Ice serpent, put your hoodie back on,” Alexei grumbled. 

“No,” Kent said. “Wait, did you—”

“Be quiet, ice serpent. Phone says 8:30 and your feet still cold.”

Kent closed his eyes and sighed. “Is ice serpent cuter in Russian?”

Alexei shifted and pulled Kent against him again, Kent’s cool back against Alexei’s warm front. “No. Ice serpent not a thing. Just words because we not sleep until 5 and only 8:30 now.”

“Ice serpent, ice serpent, make me a match, find me a find, catch me a catch.”

“Go to sleep.”

*

Kent woke up, his face against Alexei’s chest, drooling so sloppily on Alexei that he didn’t know, exactly, how to save face in the moment. Like a bandaid, Kent lifted his face, wiped his cheek and mouth, then dove for the hoodie and pressed it against the _swamp_ he had left in Alexei’s chest hair. Kent put his face against the hoodie and Alexei’s chest again, just as Alexei started to wake up and maybe _imagine_ that Kent drooling all over him was a dream.

“Changed my mind,” Alexei said over and around Kent. Every time Alexei woke up this morning, he reached for Kent, no matter how close or far, and dragged him back across the bed, like Kent couldn’t be close enough. Kent closed his eyes and pressed his face against Alexei’s skin. 

“Changed your mind?”

“I keep hoodie. Who knows what else you clean up with it.”

“My hoodie, my business.”

“Okay, then still my hoodie.”

“No takebacks.” 

“America is land of takebacks, even when not yours to take. I keep my hoodie.”

Kent closed his eyes again and let Alexei hold him, let himself breathe in the scent and warmth of him, even if he wasn’t going to sleep again. 

“You will be okay,” Alexei said suddenly. “You talk to your team, tell them what you need. Five seasons with Aces—if they not give you what you want, then. Then I don’t know. But you know better and you will be okay.” 

“That didn’t make any sense, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“It make sense. Do you _want_ sense? No.”

“You were better as a hoodie.”

Alexei held him tighter. Kent hoped he could hear or feel the apology he whispered against his chest.

*

Kent woke up on his back, staring in terror at the ceiling and at what he was about to say.

“I don’t know how to have friends,” Kent said. “I thought I had friends in Vegas and look what happened. I don’t have any queer friends. Just Jack. Just you. I just saw my teammates, the guys who were my family, stare at me because I was finally saying something about who I am—they looked so disappointed. And that thing you said last night, that maybe they were just scared to say something—god, _really_? Is that really true? Have I been their captain and their friend all these years and not one of them would stand up with me and call that asshole out? Is this how it’s gonna be if I come out? Just a silent locker room, every night, all those eyes staring at me until I leave? And the only people I can talk to about it: my ex who hates me, and you. God, I’m so—I’m sorry it’s you. I’m so sorry I do this to you.”

Alexei’s hand came to rest on Kent’s chest, right in the center above his quickening heart. 

“We’re friends. From sad scared boys at the draft to sad scared boys now, okay? We will think of something. It will not always be like this.” Alexei’s hand left Kent’s chest, but Kent grabbed it, laced their fingers together. “Let go of my hand, let me stretch. I spend all morning covering you like crab and shell.” 

“Like _spoons_ , we were _spooning_.”

“No, this more than spoons, this crab and shell. You pinch and bite too much for spoons.”

“Vegas has scorpions. Don’t you want to—”

“No.”

“Air conditioning in every—”

“Scorpions? No. And coyotes. Knopka so tiny—they tell me husky beagle, beagle for the ears and husky for the eyes. They take off with Knopka, then what? You get me new dogs?”

“Bigger dogs. You gotta out-dog the coyotes.”

Alexei, sitting up in bed, stared down at Kent, their hands still linked on Kent’s chest. “Lucky you are pretty. Dogs even luckier they love me so I never take them to Vegas.”

It slipped out before Kent could help it.

“I could love you.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Alexei squeezed Kent’s hand.

“Maybe you will. We’ll see.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/screamlet) \+ [tumblr](http://screamlet.tumblr.com/) \+ [reblog](http://screamlet.tumblr.com/post/149980065536/)


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